as my niece.’
‘I was surprised,’ Harry admitted, wondering what possible sin so lovely a creature could have committed. He could think of a few that men might want to commit with her, but such a thing would be unthinkable for a highborn young woman and one so zealously guarded.
‘My niece’s story is not one that we would wish to be generally known.’ Don Manuel eyed him keenly. ‘I am sure we may rely on your discretion.’
‘Of course.’
‘When Elena was eighteen she was betrothed to a nobleman of high standing, indeed one of the highest in the land. Unfortunately it was during a period in the war when the action intensified. My brother-in-law, her father, was killed by enemy soldiers. His death fired a young girl’s imagination with misplaced patriotic zeal and she ran off and joined a guerrilla band.’
Harry regarded him in genuine amazement. Whatever he might have imagined it wasn’t that, but then Elena seemed to defy convention in every way.
‘War affects people strangely,’ he replied, mentally including himself in that category.
Don Manuel nodded. ‘Many unfortunate events occur in times of conflict and, goodness knows, our country has seen enough of such things. They leave a bitter legacy.’
‘Yes, they do.’ Harry felt his gut tighten. The topic came too close to home, reviving memories he’d tried to bury.
‘Elena’s sisters were models of exemplary conduct. They were originally intended for marriage but, after their father’s death, they chose to enter a convent. She did neither of those things, electing instead to live with a group of men like any common drab.’
Harry barely managed to conceal his astonishment. It seemed quite incongruous to think of Elena in such a role. He had seen quite a few common drabs in his time—the army had its camp followers—but she didn’t resemble them in any way.
‘In fighting for her country her role was perhaps unusual,’ he replied, ‘but surely not dishonourable.’
‘For a woman to take up arms is unnatural. That she should live among men in that way is utterly shameless.’
Harry was tempted to probe further. Had Elena taken a lover from among the guerrilla band? It was entirely possible and yet it didn’t seem consistent with what he had seen. She was courteous and friendly but there was not the least hint of flirtatiousness in her manner. All the same, he knew better than to ask. Instead he shifted the focus of the conversation a little.
‘What of her betrothed?’
‘When he learned of her shame he ended the betrothal.’
‘I see.’
‘Elena remained with the guerrillas for two years.’ Don Manuel made a vague gesture with his hand. ‘Of course, there is no possibility of marriage for her now, and she cannot be permitted to live as a single woman. Such a thing is unheard of. The only honourable course is for her to enter a convent.’
‘We have arranged it,’ said Don Fernando.
Harry’s fingers tightened on the stem of his glass. ‘Am I to understand that Doña Elena is not in accord with this plan?’
‘She is a wilful and stubborn young woman who has erred most grievously,’ Don Fernando replied. ‘It is the responsibility of her family to put a stop to such folly. The convent will do the rest. It is a closed order and a strict one. From now on she will lead a life of piety and prayer away from the eyes of the world.’
Don Esteban nodded. ‘The discipline will be highly beneficial and will help her to atone for her behaviour. In time she will come to realise that our decision was made in her own best interests.’
Harry’s jaw tightened. There were many things he could have said, indeed wanted to say, but he bit them back even though it went against the grain. The affair was none of his business. Things were done differently here and much stricter controls exerted on young women of good family. Nor was it uncommon for daughters to be given to God, with or without their consent. The latter proposition had always rankled with him. Entry into the religious life through choice was one thing; entry under compulsion was quite another. To use a convent as a means of incarceration was indefensible in his eyes, and he pitied any young woman caught in that situation.
‘The family are gathered to witness the ceremony of admission,’ Don Esteban went on. ‘When it has taken place we shall all breathe easier.’
Don Fernando nodded. ‘Indeed we shall.’
The conversation remained with Harry long after he had left the company and retired to his room. More than ever their plan seemed like a criminal act even though, in the eyes of the law, it was perfectly legal. It was certainly a criminal waste. He had no illusions about why it was happening in spite of all the pious cant he had heard that evening. In the eyes of her family Elena had become a liability and they meant to put her quietly away for good. It was a harsh penalty for something that, presumably, had been a matter of conscience. However, war spawned many atrocities.
Harry shut his eyes, trying not to think about Badajoz, but the darkness was suddenly filled with flames and gunfire and the shouts of drunken soldiers—British soldiers. For three days they had run amok in an orgy of murder, arson, rapine and plunder. Filthy, blood-stained, crazy with drink and consumed with greed, they spared none. When their officers tried to intervene the mob turned on them too. He swallowed hard, feeling sweat start on the palms of his hands, once again watching helplessly as a man fell under a rain of blows from the butt ends of muskets, the scene backlit by the ruddy glow of burning buildings. And in one of those buildings was Belén….
Work held the memories at bay most of the time, along with the social round. For a while it was possible to forget. It was only when he lay in bed at night that the memories revived, often in terrifying dreams. Time had helped, of course, but had never entirely eradicated them. And then fate had taken a hand and brought him back to Spain….
He turned over and thumped the pillow hard. In spite of everything, he had promised Ross to do all in his power to find the proof they needed about Jamie’s death. But what if the proof he sought couldn’t be found? What if Sanchez was dead now? Harry pushed the thought away, unwilling to contemplate the thought of failure. Too much hung in the balance. He had a job to do and past demons couldn’t be allowed to get in the way.
Chapter Three
It was pleasantly warm in the garden, the morning air scented by late roses in the borders adjoining the high walls. Elena scanned the latter covertly. Without a rope or a ladder there was no way to scale them; the gate that led into the lane beyond was made of iron-studded oak and kept securely locked. In spite of its shrubs and flowering beds and attractive fountain, the garden was as much a prison as the house.
She had carefully reconnoitred the property as far as she had been able, making a note of all doors and windows. Concha had filled in the gaps, assessing those areas frequented by the servants.
‘All the downstairs windows are barred, Doña Elena. The only possibility is to use one of the bedrooms, preferably the one that looks out over the lane yonder.’ Concha jerked her head towards the garden wall that bordered the narrow roadway in question.
‘My thought exactly.’
‘A pair of knotted sheets should serve. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’
‘Hardly.’
‘The only problem is that the Englishman is currently using that bedroom.’
The Englishman! Elena bit her lip. Heaven knew she had met enough of them, but this man was different somehow. Everything about him proclaimed noble birth and education, but it was more than that. He lingered in the mind, conjuring all manner of unexpected and disturbing thoughts. Of course, such a man would attract the attention of women. It shocked her to find that she was not immune, after all. With an